


Exodus

by ballerinaroy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Multi, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-War, What's a Happy Ending Anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 06:30:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14806131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballerinaroy/pseuds/ballerinaroy
Summary: The war hadn't been over for a month but Ron and Hermione could not bear to take on the responsibility of fixing the wizarding world and banishing the darkness which remained. Reeling from their breakup with Harry, who can not seem to find happiness while he flits in and out of their lives, the two flee to the south of France and lean on each other to figure out what a life means after the war is won.





	1. Part 1

In the moment after the battle ended it was all Hermione could do not to flee. Every inch of her felt frightened and she could feel eyes on her all the time. Not used to being the center of attention, and very much not liking it, she confided in Ron who shared her concerns. He promises to take her away then, to someplace where the sun was warm and the air wasn’t thick with magic and death.

They stay through the funerals, feeling that at the very least it was their duty to honor those who had fought so bravely alongside them. And with every handshake, Hermione feels like she’s fading and when the last body is in the ground they pack their things with haste. They offer to take Harry with them. He’d been just as miserable as them and they still hadn’t talked about what would happen after they’d left the cave. He looks at them seriously and then shakes his head at their packed suitcases, suddenly unable to meet their eyes.

“Ginny and I-“ he whispers to them, looking out the window sounding very much like there was something stuck in his throat.

He didn’t need to say anything more. It had been weeks since he’d been theirs and with a final hug and kiss on the cheek they leave the room at midnight, telling only Harry where they planned to go should he ever change his mind or they need to be found. He forces on them enough money on them to be comfortable for years telling them that they’d given him their last seven years, it was at least his right to give them that.

They end up purchasing a small cottage in need of repairs on the coast of France where their only neighbors are retired and leave them alone most of the year. Their house needs work and they do it slowly, spending their mornings laying new flooring and ripping out rusted pipes. They sleep among their mess but vow not to do magic, not for this part of their lives, and not for now. They shed their wizard clothing and jumpers that they’d always worn. In a fit, Hermione chops off her long hair at her shoulders, crying about it for hours until Ron can finally tell her she’s beautiful with each and every one of her scars and kisses her so deeply that she doesn’t ache for a moment. And when after a month and a half of potions and rehabilitation his shoulder still won’t work, Hermione cries with him in the middle of their living room floor.

After half a year of remodeling, they finish the original layout of their home. The add-on bedrooms seem unsalvageable, but they don’t mind. They hadn’t any visitors and had become more than comfortable interacting with one another in such a small space. They officially deem the former dining room where their bed goes and unpack their things.

Without renovations to occupy their time, Ron worries that Hermione will be bored and grow sad again, but they quickly adopt a new routine. They wake early for coffee and breakfast on the porch and spend their mid-days reading out on blankets spread on the lawn or exploring the countryside. They eat at new restaurants and make friends with strangers on vacation and never seem to have a shortage of interesting tales to hear.

With a week left until Christmas Harry visits them for the first time. He looks upset but doesn’t say anything as they show him around.

“I’m glad to see that you’re both doing well,”Harry tells them as they all stand in the kitchen, preparing lunch of roasted red peppers topped with goat cheese from their neighbors and freshly pressed olive oil another neighbor had given them as a present before returning home for the holidays. “You both look great actually, I never would have thought it, but this lifestyle suits you.”

Hermione smiles, squeezing his hand as she passes. She knows what he means. Ron, after getting viciously sunburned for several weeks upon their arrival, finally took her advice to not be in the sun 24 hours a day and let her take care of him when he was hot to the touch. Since then he’d adopted a healthy tan rival of Charlie’s and his many freckles decorated his face. Likewise, the years of sleepless nights spent worrying about her boys and hours spent hunched over a textbook had been replaced with a carefree smile and a glow that made Harry feel warm.

When Hermione looks up Harry’s eyes were on Ron’s broad shoulders as he bent over the oven to pull the tray out. He looks over at her and blushes, “and your hair.”

“Are you hitting on my woman?” Ron asks good-naturedly, setting the tray atop the oven and as he shut the oven door with his foot.

Harry doesn’t say anything at first and then cracks a smile. “Well, someone has to.”

Hermione is sure that this isn’t what he wants to say but they let it pass, taking their meal to their outdoor dining room and refuse to talk about anything serious while they ate. Instead, Ron and Hermione share stories of their adventures, hiking through the hills and eating with strangers and Harry fills them in on what they’d been missing back at home.

It wasn’t until they were long finished with their meal, lounging on the couch with Hermione and Ron on one end, Harry on the other, Hermione’s feet on his lap that he even mentioned why he was there.

“I expect you know why I came,” he finally said, rubbing Hermione’s foot absentmindedly, an old habit of his.

Hermione and Ron share a glance, utterly perplexed on how to proceed. “Oh?" Ron finally settles, casually taking a sip of his wine while not breaking eye contact.

“Molly wants you home for Christmas of course.” He continued quickly.

Again Ron and Hermione look at each other, this time differently. After fleeing the aftermath, Ron and Hermione hadn’t planned on returning. They had exchanged a series of letters with Molly and Arthur, using owls from the next wizarding town over when Hermione told Ron about how guilty she felt taking him away from his parents.

“You didn’t take me away Hermione,” Ron told her with a chuckle which he realizes a moment too late was ill-timed.

“I know that you wanted to come with me,” Hermione insists, “But I still feel like I stole you from them, if it wasn’t for me then you wouldn’t even have left the country!”

In the end, they agreed to make contact with his parents at the least and since exchanged letters monthly, assuring Ron’s parents that they were alright and that they’d nothing to worry about while receiving news from back in England.

“I don’t know about that Harry,” Ron finally says for the both of them, putting his arm across Hermione’s chest and kissing the side of her head. “England is a long way away, and it’s so cold in the winter.”

Harry watches this silent exchange with interest and replies, “They miss you both, everyone’s always asking if I’ve heard from you. They’re staying away because you asked, but it’s been six months, I can’t keep everyone at bay for forever.”

Again they communicated wordlessly, Hermione removing one of her feet from Harry’s lap and drawing it closer to her, she looks up at Ron once more who sighs.

“You’re more than welcome to stay at my place,” Harry answers them. “I’d love for you to come and see it.”

“I heard Ginny moved in,” Hermione says, this finally being the opening that she’d been waiting for all night. At the name, Harry looks quite uncomfortable. “Is everything alright with the both of you?”

“Yeah,” Harry answeres shortly, unable to meet her eyes. “Anyway I’d better be getting back, I’ll need to get far enough away to apparate-“ 

“Harry!” Hermione calls as he stood abruptly.

“Thanks for dinner, it was good seeing you both-“

“Come-on mate,” Ron says, standing up just as suddenly, leaving Hermione sitting alone on the couch. “Stay the night, it’s one hell of a journey when you’re sober.”

He looks back at them, brow furrowed.

“We don’t have to talk about Ginny if you don’t like,” Hermione promises him then, straightening her long skirt that had gotten ruffled in the exchange. “Please don’t run away from us.”

Harry looks like he’d like to say something, but shut his mouth as soon as he’d opened it. “Alright then.”

Hermione smiles warmly, walking over and wrapped her arms around him. “We’ve really missed you, Harry.”

He sighed, melting into her hug and stood there for a long moment. Finally, Ron cleared his throat and Hermione winked at him, inviting him into the hug. He rolled his eyes and began clearing the table. Harry jumped apart from Hermione then, eagerly helping while Hermione went around extinguishing the lights they’d lit.

“Why don’t you get washed up?” Ron offers as she enters behind them. “I’ve got this.”

“If you insist,” she teases, setting down his and her gathered glasses and leaned over to give him a quick kiss. Hermione felt briefly in that moment as if he was claiming her, his hand moving to tangle in her hair for a moment before finally releasing her, looking breathless with a satisfied smirk.

Hermione swatted at his hip and left the room with a final wink to Harry, leaving to the small bathroom that they’d expanded into a full washroom. They don’t talk much for the rest of the night and in the morning see Harry off into the hills before returning to their home with new smiles.

 

 

It’s another year and a half before they see Harry again. He visits, looking just as somber as before. He tells them stories of being an Auror with scars and burns to match. They tell him about their marriage in Rome over the holiday while they did nothing but dance and drink wine with some real gypsies who claimed to sense their darkness and did nothing but bless them for the week they traveled with them.

For three nights he stays with them, and the sunshine and smiles on his face take years from his worn look. He says almost no more about his life at home until their last afternoon, lounging on the lawn when he suddenly sits up straight and gives them a very sad look.

“I’m thinking about proposing,” he tells them.

Ron and Hermione stare at each other, speechless. Quite under the impression that he and Ginny had broken up, as he hadn’t mentioned her or done anything to stop their advances, they find themselves with nothing kind to say. He smiles at them sheepishly.

“And by thinking I mean,” he pauses, fumbling with something in his pocket and then produces a velvet box. Inside is a ring with a diamond as large as the nail on Hermione’s smallest finger.

“Oh, Harry-“ Hermione sighs, staring at him helplessly. She knows what she wants to say, to ask if he’s sure if it would really make him happy and why, oh why did he look so miserable. But she knows the answers to all of these questions and instead gives him a shaky smile with tears in her eyes.

Harry catches this and questions her on her look.

“It’s nothing,” Hermione whispers. They’d had such a nice week. She didn’t want to spoil it now.

“What?” Harry asks again, this time his voice is much more demanding as if challenging her. Hermione could feel the retorts at the back of his tongue. “What is it, Hermione? I’m not looking for your permission, you didn’t ask for mine.”

“It’s not that-“

“Look, not all of us can run away from our problems. We can’t all go off to a foreign country and live some half-life, trying to convince ourselves we’re happy. You haven’t fixed anything, you’re not cured, you just pretend that everything is fine. You’re not the people I grew up with. The person I knew wouldn’t be happy with this waste of a life. You want me to be happy about your marriage? Ron is the only person you’ve spoken to in years, of course, you’re going to pretend you’re married. Anyone you would have run away with you would have said yes to.”

His words bite at her and tears run down her cheeks. Unaware, she sinks into Ron’s side, trying to shield herself from his harsh words. Harry stands suddenly. “I’m glad you think you’re happy, but not all of us can pretend what happened to us didn’t.”

Hermione didn’t follow as he walked out of the home. She looked at Ron who was fuming and didn’t try to stop him as he marched after Harry. She can hear them shouting at each other even though the shut door, but doesn’t make any move to stop them. There’s the sharp crack of someone disapparating followed by deafening silence. At the sight of Ron re-entering the house the small part of her holding her together breaks and she begins to sob, rooted to the spot. She’s aware of Ron’s arm wrapping around her from behind and she begins to howl, unable even to draw a breath.

It had been years since she’d cried like this. Years since she’d felt guilt and shame over her decision. Years since she’d wished she’d never left after the war. Years since she’d mourned for a life lost.

Ron holds her until she’s able to sit and then guides her to the bed, leaving behind the remnants of a happy meal and a different time. They lay there for hours as the sun sets and she can just make out his features in the blueish light of evening. There’s not much left to say.

“What did you say to him?” Hermione finally asks on the second day. They still haven’t left their bed and the dishes from their last meal crowd their sink.

Ron raises his head, staring at her. His expression seems to question what she had to gain from knowing but he answers her still, it was their pact not to keep any secrets.

“I asked why he came.” Ron answers and his lips narrow for a moment. “I asked if he wanted our encouragement or something and I told him that we weren’t just going to be here for him to run away to whenever he felt like it.”

Gently Hermione caresses his face. Ron’s face is drawn tightly still and he lets out a long breath. “It ended with me telling him that he could keep fucking my wife and I or he could fuck my sister, but he sure as hell couldn’t keep doing both.”

“Oh Ron,” she whispers. He sniffles, laying his head on her chest and though he tries to stop it, fat tears keep leaking onto her white top.

 

For the next week, they stay close but don’t speak much. The shower is the only time Hermione finds herself alone, but even the short time along she dreads as the echoes of Harry’s last words still wash over her every time she allows them. She’s grateful when Ron joins her, sitting on the toilet as he watches her brush her teeth, towel still wrapped around her wet hair.

“Are you okay?” Ron asks. It’s the first time he’s asked her since. Hermione nods, unable to meet his eyes. “Hermione.” He whispers in a knowing voice and she turns to him for a moment before spitting out the toothpaste in her mouth.

“Do you love me?” she asks, trying to sound casual but aware of the speed of her voice.

Surprised, Ron stares at her before hurriedly answering “Yes, of course, I do Hermione.”

“I mean really, properly love me.”

“Hermione, of course, I love you, I have always loved you. Is this about what Harry said?”

Hermione can feel herself nodding, forcing herself to look up at him.

“He was looking for a fight.” Ron tells her seriously, “He was looking for any reason to say those things, you could have said nothing and he still would have yelled.”

“Perhaps, there’s some truth to what he said,” Hermione answers, choosing her words carefully. “We did run away Ron, we’re not the people we were.”

Ron stands up. The mixture of fear and concern in his eyes makes her want to stop talking but she forces herself to meet his gaze.

“I know you love me, Ron, it’s just, do you feel for me romantically or like you do for Harry?”

“I don’t know if Harry’s the best example.”

Hermione is unsure if he’s trying to make a joke, but she knows there’s something serious in what he says.

“Do you really love me, Ron?Or do you love me as you would someone you had to take care of all the time, someone you have to fix all the time?”

“I don’t fix you, Hermione.” He says as he stands up and steps towards her.

“Yes, you do. You spend all of your time-“

“No, I don’t.” He interrupts, unsure of what to say next. “Come here.”

Hermione steps towards him without thinking and he places his hand on her shoulder and leans down so their eyes are on the same level. “Hermione, I do not fix you. You have fixed yourself. Harry is mad because he is not apart of this because he doesn’t understand how we are actually fine. He is mad because we left and he can feel that way all he wants because we would not be okay if we had stayed.”

“I just, did we do the wrong thing? What would have happened to him if we’d stayed?”

“Broken people can’t fix broken people.” Ron reminds her. “And Hermione,” he pauses and tears well up in his eyes. “You are the love of my life. My happiness comes from a life with you. I am grateful every day to wake up next to you and that you’re willing to share your life with me. I don’t ever want you to doubt how I feel for you because it is so strong it scares me. I will spend every day for the rest of my life trying to make sure you know how much I love you, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“I will always want you,” Hermione whispers, pressing her hand against his cheek. “Ronald I can’t imagine a life without you.”

 

 

It takes Harry an entire year to propose. The four of them vacation together to celebrate. Ginny’s ecstatic and tells them how much she’s missed them and begs them to come home. Easily they refuse, telling stories of their travels. She doesn’t seem to believe that they’re actually happy like somehow the disappeared shadows that still plague Harry’s eyes are the result of something else.

They spend a week in Spain, visiting the beaches and markets and then another week in France, visiting Bill and Fleur and Paris before parting. It’s not until the last night that Harry comes onto them. Ginny, exhausted, waves them off when they make plans for the night and instead it’s only the three of them, visiting a noisy pub. People keep coming over wanting to shake Harry’s hand (even now he can’t go anywhere without being recognized) but he doesn’t seem to have eyes for anyone but them. His face grows sadder and sadder as he gets very drunk off of the drinks that everyone seems to be buying them, and long before closing Hermione insists on taking him home. Harry stumbles around like a child and they half carry him. Unfit to apparate they rent a room across the street and throw Harry into the bed in hopes that he’ll simply sleep it off.

He lays there obediently, insisting that Hermione lay with him. He tries something with them again and again until finally Ron, who’d steadily been growing angrier and angrier, picks him up with ease and throws him into the shower, cold water running. Harry sobers up quickly, and with tears in his eyes emerges, still sopping wet. Hermione doesn’t even offer to dry his clothes and they sit facing each other.

“Are you done?” Hermione asks scathingly as he drips onto the floor.

Harry nods, unable to meet their eyes.

She looks to Ron who has an angry look on his face. “I thought I made myself clear, it’s us or her, you can’t have both Potter.”

Harry begins to shake so violently that Hermione worries that he was having a seizure until he looks up, tears rolling down his face.

“I don’t know why I can’t just be happy.” He tells them, pulling the wet towel around his shoulders tightly. “I just-“ he sobs again.

“Why?” Hermione asks him. “Just,” she looks to Ron. They’d never had the breakup conversation. They’d never talked about getting together either but from what little talks they had about beginning their relationship, ending it was a topic they’d never discussed. “We offered it to you, Harry. We were never the ones to end things. From the very beginning, we told you that we’d never push you away or ask you to leave. And when we left after the war we offered to take you with us and you refused so why Harry? Why do you insist on acting like we rejected you and refuse to let yourself be happy?”

“Because it’s not natural,” he mutters to them. “Think of what your family would say Ron, and they’re the only family I’ve got-“

“Fuck that Potter,” Ron snaps, “I would have thought that you’d have learned by now that if you spend your entire life living up to everyone else’s expectations that you’re going to be miserable. You know what will make you happy and we’re sitting here offering it to you. Either take it or stop making excuses.”

There’s a new sort of sadness in his eyes. But it’s overshadowed with sudden anger. He yells at them then. About how cowardly they’d been by running away. That they have no authority to speak of his happiness when they hadn’t spent the last three years since the war has ended taking care of the mess that they’d left behind in a war-torn wizarding world.

They let him rage himself into tears, taking every small blow about them, and their choices and even their personalities until he breaks down into tears and they leave him there, having sobbed himself into sleep. Fleur is awake when they arrive and they thank her for letting them stay as they collect their things and leave without another goodbye.

 


	2. Part 2

They see him only when they go home for Christmas, feeling as if four years apart is unfair to the Weasleys. Molly cries every time that she sees them and showers them with gifts and begs them not to leave again. Even Bill and Fleur are moving back to England, pregnant with their third and wanting to be closer to Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione insist that they’re happy and have no plans to move back.

Hermione finds herself almost convinced that England wasn’t as bad as in her memory when she wakes up in the middle of the night screaming and it takes almost three hours for her to stop crying. They cut their vacation short by half a week and leave the next morning after a hurried breakfast and hushed conversations as to why they both suddenly look like death. With hugs to Ron’s parents and their best wishes to everyone else (and not even stopping by to say their goodbyes to Harry and Ginny), they’re off.

 

It’s been two years. He shows up on their doorstep with tears in his eyes and a smile on his face. They insist that he sit down, and dry off from the rain but he can’t sit still.

“It’s over,” he tells them suddenly. And with a choked sob tells them everything.

How he and Ginny kept getting into arguments over nothing, that she’d been spending more nights than not on the road and how in their final fight when he accused her of cheating that she’d broken down into tears and confessed everything. He’d been a teammate and at first, had just listened to Ginny whenever she was angry about how long her engagement had lasted or that Harry wouldn’t pay much attention to her and then it was more than that. They’d been sleeping together for almost a year now. He’d quit his job and finally decided.

“I’m sorry,” he told them, finally sitting down across from them and gave them a sad look. “I’m so sorry that I’ve waited so long. You both, you just-“ he couldn’t seem to get another word out as he stared at them, looking terrified that they’d reject him.

Without even sharing a look between the two of them Ron slowly moves towards Harry, wrapping him in a hug as Harry begins to sob. Just as suddenly as he’d left he was back and though he’s still crying there’s no mistaking the smile that spreads from ear to ear with the prospects of finally being with his best friends once more.

 

Though Harry is clearly mourning over his lost future with Ginny, everything feels brighter with him around. He talks about her longingly from time to time but smiles whenever one of them walks into the room. They fall into a familiar routine as though they’d never spent a day apart. Ron and Hermione never say it but without Harry, it had always felt as though something was missing and with him finally there, finally with them, they feel complete. For his first week with them, it rains but they are content to sit by the fire, Ron, and Harry playing chess while Hermione reads or knits seated in a chair above them. None of them can seem to keep their hands off each other and during the week-long storm, Hermione is never quite sure whether it’s day or night when one of them tugs on her hands, pulling her back to the bedroom.

 

“Ron,” Hermione whispered in his ear. She lay beside him, their heads all but touching on a shared pillow. “Ron, are you awake?”

“Yeah,” he answered her in a low voice, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close. He’s woken when she’d left for the bathroom, never certain to sleep when she wasn’t in the room.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered. She waited for a moment but only his soft snores answered her.

“I’ll get him,” Ron told her, rolling over and lifting his arm to shake awake the man that lay at his side.

“No,” Hermione told him and Ron let his arm fall back on her. “I was just making sure.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, considerably more awake now and quite curious at what she had to say. “‘Mione?”

“I’m pregnant,” she answered him. Her voice was slightly giddy and he opened his eyes to her excited smile. “I don’t know how far along or anything, and we’ll have to check with the healer but-“

He smiles, wrapping around her and holding her tightly. “You’re brilliant Hermione Jane, just brilliant.”

 

“Ron kick you out of the kitchen?” Hermione asks with a grin when she notices Harry standing in the doorway watching her. He blushes and Hermione throws a dirty pillowcase at him which Harry easily catches with one hand. “He’s really rather possessive, don’t worry.”

Harry smiles, moving to the other side of the bed, untucking the corner tossing it towards the middle.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do?” Hermione continues, watching him carefully.

“I want to be with the both of you if you’ll have me.” He answers, causing Hermione to smile. She meets him at the foot of the bed and squeezes his hand.

“Of course we want you.” She answered. “We’ll have to find a bigger place of course.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this place.” He told her, looking around and back to Ron who was diligently scrubbing something on the stove.

Hermione let out a small laugh. “Not with your stuff here as well.” Harry gave her a bemused look. “Ron and I have pretty much filled up the house already and we came here with nothing, imagine once we have all of your things in here, there’s not going to be any space at all.”

Harry shrugged, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Harry you’re going to want some of your things-“

“Don’t worry about it,” he repeated with a tone that told Hermione not to ask again. “There’s no chance that you’ll come back to England is there?” he asks and Hermione shakes her head. “It’s not that bad, nothing like when you left.”

For a moment Hermione ponders this and then shakes her head, gathering the dirty sheets from the middle of the bed and tosses them in the basket near the door. “England wasn’t the reason that we left,” Hermione answered him, “We were Harry.”

“But you’re not the same people you were when you left.” He responded, watching her just as carefully.

“No, we’re not,” Hermione agrees with a shrug and toss of her hair, standing up with a fresh set of sheets in her arms. “But I just don’t see us returning there and staying this way.”

Harry nods sadly. “What about when you have kids? Won’t you want them to go to Hogwarts?”

Hermione gave a sly smile, “I have the funny feeling that between the three of us, we’ll manage to get a kid into Hogwarts.”

Blankly he stared at her as she moved back to the top sheet and then threw it over the bed. “Three?”

“Well, there’s something we wanted to talk to you about.” She said, looking up to Ron who was drying his hands. Slowly he joined them, standing in the doorway for a moment before walking over to Hermione and standing behind her, hand on her shoulder. “I just found out a couple of days ago and I wanted to visit the healer first but,” she gave a nervous smile up to Ron. “We’re pregnant.”

“Congratulations,” Harry said, but his voice sounded quiet hallow. Unable to meet Ron’s eyes he stared at the ground. “Only who’s the father?”

Gently Hermione extended her hand. Looking like he’d rather not, Harry took it and allowed her to guide him to her side of the bed. They sat side by side, Ron still standing beside Hermione, his hand on her shoulder. “Harry, we don’t want you to feel like you have any sort of obligation or anything-“

“Hermione-“

“About two years after the war ended we realized that-“ Hermione looked up at Ron, blushing. “Well, we realized that we hadn’t been taking any birth control for a year.”

“What?” he asked stupidly. It seemed like an unbelievable statement. It was Hermione after all, how could she ever have forgotten?

“Ron was going to the market and asked if I needed any potion ingredients and I told him I didn’t and that I hadn’t made a potion in ages and he asked about birth control and I told him that I thought that he’d been using the spell,” she said this all very quickly and Ron chuckled, steading her.

“And I told her that I thought that she’d been using the potion and hadn’t bothered for about a year and a half.” He told Harry, finally sitting down behind Hermione. “We took a test and found out that we weren’t pregnant, which we honestly thought to be pretty odd.”

“We wanted to make sure that everything was alright so that one day when we decided that we wanted children we would be prepared,” Hermione continued. “So we visited a healer and found out that well I had sustained some damage which could be fixed but-“ she looked back to Ron who with an easy smile finished.

“Found out that I was pretty much infertile.”

“I’m so sorry,” Harry answered him, looking at Ron in concern who brushed it off with an easy shrug. “Wait does that mean-“

“I know that this is a lot to take in,” Hermione said, squeezing his hand which she still held. “And we’ve known for several years now that eventually we’d ask you to be a donor. Take all the time that you need Harry.”

“Well that’s brilliant isn’t it?” but even he didn’t look entirely convinced. Never the less Hermione smiled at him brilliantly, looking ecstatic.

“Really?” Hermione asked as they rose together, immediately in a hug.

“Yeah,” he answered, wrapping his arms around them both. He seemed to think about it for a moment and then smiled. “That’s it then, I’m going to be a dad. Bloody hell.”

Hermione grinned, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and found tears in his eyes. Carefully Ron wiped them away and then his own as Harry continued to make ecstatic noises, unable to think clearly.

 

Harry awoke the next day mid-afternoon, walking out to find Hermione in the garden, a wide smile still on his face. From the patio he watched as she lay lounged on a quilt, a sun hat blocking the rays from above while she leaned over a novel. Sensing him she looked up, shooting him a grin and beaconed him over.

“I was going to come and wake you soon, we were getting worried,” Hermione told him, closing the novel on her finger and sitting up.

“I don’t think I’ve slept that much in years,” Harry answered with a grin, leaning down to give her a peck and then joined her, lounging back under the warm afternoon sun all the while keeping his eyes on her. “Where’s Ron?”

“He went into town, we’re running low on boomslang and I wanted to make a sleeping drought.” She answered and then frowned, glancing back into the house. “He should be back soon, we talked about going to the coast for dinner.”

“What’s on the coast?” Harry asked, and Hermione grinned at him.

“It’s one of Ron’s favorite restaurants. Freshest fish you’ll ever eat. You’ll like it there, its a place we always talked about taking you.” She answered.

A wave of happiness washed over him as she spoke. Even though he’d been absent they’d still been thinking of him. Again he felt guilty that he’d taken so long to be true to himself. But at the sight of her, gathering her hair to pull it up and her eyes twinkling at him in the sunlight his worries eased. For years he’d been dreaming of this moment. Even when he was laying in bed beside Ginny he would imagine that it was Hermione beside him, Ron’s hand on his shoulder resting his head on Harry’s back while Hermione’s read them the paper.

Slowly Harry looked around, taking stock of his life. Finally, he was where he belonged. In a house in the south of France with his two best friends whom he loved more than anything. A child that he’d never dared dream about was on the way and he was positive that this was it. His best friends, his family now. It made him want to cry, not in mourning of moments lost but rather out of pure joy.

As if reading his mind Hermione took his hand into her own and smiled widely at him, laying down beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. “We’re so happy that you’re here,” she whispered and though he couldn’t manage a response he kissed her forehead and closed his eyes, basking in the warm sun.

“Ron’s back,” Hermione whispered and a moment later Harry heard him in the distance, walking up to the house.

The front door opened and closed and through the windows, Harry watched as he walked through the house. Sensing something that he didn’t Hermione sat up suddenly, her face several shades paler and called to him. “Something’s wrong.” She whispered, eyes locked on Ron. Quickly she scrambled to her feet, and before Harry could even ask she’d jogged the distance to the door, tossing her arms around Ron before he’d even exited the doorframe.

Dread washed over his body and though he willed himself he was unable to even sit up, watching Ron’s pale face as he whispered hurriedly to Hermione, looking up at Harry between every word. Hermione’s arms wrapped around him again, tears dripping down her face.

As quickly as his dream had come true Harry could feel it slipping like water through his hands. 

 

They didn’t say anything but gathered in the house, Hermione’s blanket still out in the sun that kept shining despite the gloom that had fallen over the home. Hermione seemed unable to sit still, passing back and forth as Ron stood still, watching them both with narrowed eyes.

“What-“ Harry started but was hushed instantly. His stomach turned, watching them. “Who-“

“Hush,” Hermione said again. Tears still dripped down her face but she had a new look, one of resolve as she turned on Harry, running over suddenly.

“Do we need to run?” Hermione whispered.

Harry looked up at her with a blotchy face, “What?” he managed.

“Do you need to run?” she repeated. Her lips were thinner than he’d ever seen them and reminded him suddenly of McGonagall. Her tears had stopped and he understood what she was asking.

“No, no,” he whispered quickly “I would never, I didn’t-“ he took a deep breath, “Oh my God, do you think-“

“That they’ll think it was you?” Hermione finished for him, looking back at Ron who nodded gravely. “Harry you found out that she was sleeping-“

“That doesn’t mean that I’d want to kill her!” He screamed suddenly. “Godrick, I love her. No matter what I love her. Why else would I have spent as long as I did with her?”

 

Time seemed a blur. Though he tried to stand it was all Harry could do to keep his head up, watching as Hermione ran through the house hastily packing without a word. Ron was on her heels, unable to let her out of his sight. The next thing Harry knew they were gone. Gone from the future which he’d just begun to taste. An emergency portkey took them to the Burrow where before they could even enter there were screams and curses thrown and before Harry had even a chance to state his side he found himself in handcuffs, his own boss taking him in and a rogue photographer’s shot made the front page. Harry in custody, Molly screaming at him in the background and Ron holding Hermione back looking stone-faced.

 

“So you believe them,” Harry said in a quiet betrayed voice.

For a moment they all stared at one another, tears wheeling up in Hermione’s eyes.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered longingly. “Please, let this all be over, you’re looking at 3-5 years and then we can go back to our home and-“

“Three to five?” Harry roared, “While her killer walks free? I didn’t do it! No matter what anyone says, no matter what anyone believes, it wasn’t me! I can’t spend that much time. We have a kid!”

Stunned, they watched as Harry rose from his seat, pounding his fists on the table. “You let them get to you! You know that it wasn’t me. It wasn’t,” he paused then, stunned by the fear in their eyes. “I didn’t-“ helpless he teared up, falling back down into his seat and stared at them, “I didn’t-“ but he was unable to finish his sentence, “I didn’t-“

“Please,” Hermione begged him, tears falling down her own face and reached for Ron’s hand, holding it on her lap. “Please, Harry I want to go home.”

“I didn’t,” he gasped out again and then curled in on himself, resting his greasy forehead against the table. “I didn’t-“

“I wanna go home,” Hermione begged again she felt Ron’s strong hand squeezing hers and the sound of her own thoughts were drowned out by Harry’s blabbering and wails. “Please, Harry I just want-“

“I didn’t mean to kill her.”

The room froze instantly as Harry’s wailing stopped and he emerged, face wet with tears. Hermione turned to face Ron helplessly, one hand clutched to her chest as she felt her heart break in two.

“I just couldn’t take it anymore, being so miserable,” his face was hard-set now, unable to face either of them. “I just thought if I blew up the house that it would make it so much easier, have a reason for moving down to France. I didn’t know that she was home, honest, you have to believe that.” Finally, he looked up, eyes catching Hermione who’s sobbing had stopped. “If I even thought for an instant that she was there or going to be there I wouldn’t have even dreamed-“

He stopped, taking a steadying breath and closed his eyes for a moment. “I just wanted to make a new life for us, one where we’d all be happy. I didn’t want to hurt her, no matter what anyone says I never wanted to hurt her. I loved Ginny so so much. I just wanted us all to be happy.”

“Ron,” Hermione whispered, breathless. There was a pregnant pause while they stared at one another. “I-“

“I’m so sorry,” he told her, giving her hand a final squeeze before pulling away from her. “I never meant to kill my baby sister.”

The second he began to stand the door burst open, Gawain and the other Aurors who’d been listening at the door bursting in and binding him. He didn’t resist, looking at both of them sadly. “I loved you both so much, take care of each other.”


	3. Dear Baby,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story in its first draft (titled Dear Baby) was written with this letter as the bookends. I elected not to include it as the transition of Hermione's letter to the baby to the story felt uncomfortable while reading it. Here is the letter in its entirety as I hope it provides insight into the plot. -Roy

Dearest Rose,

I want you to know I have loved you more than anything. You are the beacon of light which has sustained me up until now. You are the brightest and most brilliant person I have ever met. You amaze me each and every moment. Your thirst for knowledge and hunger to learn will sustain you. I wish I could have been more for you.

I have never been much of a mother to you. I have no excuse. I know after my passing people will say he broke me or tarnished me, but my husband was one of the only people I could ever trust. Before I pass on I think you deserve the truth, the whole truth. One day you will learn about a war, a terrible war which we were raised as children to be soldiers in. You will read and learn and imagine but I pray you never truly understand what it’s like to be in battle.

People will tell you about how brilliant I am, well, how brilliant I was. The stories they tell will be of a mother you never knew. Because I’m not that person anymore. War changes a person. I was never the same. None of us were. I hope you never really understand. I hope you’re always left with questions.

After the war, Ronald and I fled far away. Most of our lives had been spent fighting and I knew I couldn’t take anymore. Away from the darkness and tragedies, we began to heal in the south of France where our only concern was the sunshine and the rain. It was there your father joined us, after years of resenting not being able to heal he finally came to be at home with us. It had always been the three of us. We were all made for each other. Only, when trying to flee, your father made a mistake, a terrible mistake which cost the life of your aunt. We all loved her very much.

Knowing of you and only wanting the best for us, Ron took the fall. I often wonder what might have happened if we hadn’t known. If your paternity had been contested. Would your father still have let him take the fall? Deep down I don’t think we’d have returned to England at all but run further away, where no one would have ever known our names or the war we’d been a part of. I try not to think much about the mistake we made coming back to the country.

If you ever thought that I resented you I’m sorry, it was never you really, just the thought of you. I had always felt that in part your birth is what forced me to be confined to the land that I wished so desperately to flee from. We stayed to be closer to family, at least until my husband was released and we could recluse ourselves once more. But as you well know within a year of your birth, and with no explanation, Ron had ended his life.

Most people, should you ask, will simply say that he was unable to live with the guilt of having killed his sister that he loved ever so. No matter how it ended we cared for her so deeply. Others will tell you that once the relationship between Harry and I hit the tabloids that he thought that he’d never stand a chance. I don’t think that, however. If you were to ask me, which for the record no one has, that the sickness that made us flee for the first time got to him. A lot of things happened to us during the war. A lot of stories which have no place being told.

After his death, I saw no point in returning to the place that had been my refuge. Your father had always been happier in England and I couldn’t find the strength to fight with him for our return. It made sense, to stay in a place where we had an abundance of relatives to help raise you. I thought it much better in the end to let them. I married your dad and we raised you under the guise of a happy couple finally reunited.

I got a job, teaching because I knew that it would consume my time. I found quickly that any love that I had felt for your father I no longer felt. I grew to resent him for all the same reasons that I could never properly care for you. I blamed him for bringing me back to a place that I only remembered nightmares from where I discovered a power inside me that today I only hate.

In school, you’ll one day learn about dementors, the foulest and evil creatures that I’ve ever experienced. When I was young they were used to guard the prisons and the ultimate sentence was a dementor's kiss, a fate worse than death. The dementor takes the soul of the sentenced because as I’ve learned you can live without a soul.

When your father first sensed the growing despair inside of me he tried to bargain with me. That if we got you through school, stayed long enough to let him fulfill his dreams, that he’d take me away. I think that he hoped that one day I’d grow to like it here or even the hope of leaving would sustain me. What I’ve realized however is that even if I were to survive that long that going away would do me no better. When we left I knew Ron would heal me. That our relationship was worth fighting for and that I’d find life again with him. But it’s been too long. The sickness which threatened to claim me once before has become too strong.

I am sorry for neglecting you as you grew. I felt incredibly weak when I was faced with the prospects of raising you compared to the family that so readily took you in. They did far better for you than I ever could. In time I hope that you recognize that I tried to give you the best I could and shield you from what hid inside of me.

One day you’ll hear our stories. The stories of the war which we were raised to be soldiers in. The battles we fought and you will only be able to imagine how we made it out. The history you hear will be abbreviated and I only hope that with those stories knowledge you’ll be able to forgive me. I was never fit to be your mother. I wasn’t fit to be much of anything after that war.

I hope your memories of me are kind, but I wouldn’t blame you otherwise. My fondest memories of you are the days we would spend playing in the sun, out on vacation or on the beach, watching you learn to laugh and run. You’re a natural on the broom as your father.

You’ll be raised by people who know better than I how to nurture you. You will be brilliant and wise and scarred by the death in your early life. Your father was too. If you’re anything like your parents you’ll find people who you can trust, you’ll seek out the people who you need to raise you. You’ll be brilliant. Baby, I’m sorry I’m not strong enough to be one of those people. I have faith that what the universe has taken from me, it was saving for you.

 

Forever love,

Mum


End file.
